


Say My Name (before you go)

by Outis_of_the_Cave



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Angst, Atmospheric, Chance Meetings, Chases, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Modern AU, Oneshot, Stanley is a Dick, Two most popular Terror characters find love, otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 11:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15840090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outis_of_the_Cave/pseuds/Outis_of_the_Cave
Summary: A chance meeting during a cold, winter night leads to unexpected romance!





	Say My Name (before you go)

“I’m heading out,” said John S. Peddie.

 

Stephen Stanley, his fellow doctor, couldn't even be bothered to look up from his desk-only answering after Peddie cleared his throat. “What’s that?” he frowned. 

“I said I’m leaving.”

 

“Already? Oh…” Stanley noticed the clock. “I see. I’ll be here for some time so remember to lock the door…Mister…”

 

“Doctor.”

 

“Doctor...Petty, is it?”

 

Peddie didn’t know what he had expected; this was the fifth time this week. “Peddie.”

 

“Dr. Peddie, yes.” Stanley adjusted his reading glasses and once more attended to the pile of paperwork on his desk. When his fellow doctor is at the door he suddenly looked up, calling, “Dr. Peddie?”

 

“Yes?” Peddie answers, a hint of hopefulness in his voice. At last! The older doctor was actually calling him by his name. No one ever seemed to be able to remember it, not even his patients. 

 

“Don’t slam the door on your way out.” 

 

Peddie sighed. “Right.”

 

Dr. Stanley didn’t even bother to offer a grunt in response. He complained about missing pens under his breath.   

 

John Peddie left the office around midnight; subconsciously bracing himself for the inevitable blast of cool air in the waiting room before stepping out into the night. Streetlights, set at their usual intervals, greeted him; their artificial shine bathing large piles of snow in a yellow glow. He walked down the street; noting to himself which lights had failed to turn on tonight, trying to remember if they were on last night or had been off that time too, and whether they would be on or off tomorrow night. A tedious exercise but a mental workout nonetheless. Yet while he could say with a worn out certainty how many lamps were on the street (28), how many were working tonight (26), and how long it would take him to reach the bus stop (15 to 20 minutes); he was never sure how many times he had taken this particular walk, following this same route. This special time following a day of work under the abominable Doctor Stephen Stanley always held for him a special, timeless quality. A very singular but vague quality only heightened in its mysteriousness by his clouded breath, the falling snow, and emptiness around him. 

 

The bustop was deserted, as it usually was, and Peddie walked to it...and kept walking past it, his feet seemingly acting of their own volition. He couldn’t describe this night as a nice one, by no means, but it was preferable to what he would return to: an empty apartment, eight hours of sleep that may include a dream, and a groggy awakening to the fact that he had to spend another day at the practice he shared with Stanley. So he continued his walk, unaware and unfeeling and unknowing of his destination. He moved for motion’s sake. 

 

Half-seen facades passed him by and once or twice there was even a face-solitary pedestrians doing odd things during these odd hours.  _ Maybe they are like me _ , he wonders, but decides that this is not the case. The tireless, pedantic aspect of his mind that always counted the streetlamps told him it was so for these men and women-while strangers to him-were very well known to others, even  _ intimate  _ with them. They were called by their names and it didn’t really matter whether their titles were used in swears or compliments, vile oaths or unexpected praise-to be named by another is to be made truly significant.       

 

Farther and farther he went; away from the streetlamps that had grown suddenly too bright, from the anonymous faces that had become so uncomfortably inquisitive, from store fronts that were too damned familiar. He was fleeing from mesopelagic zone-as his young intern would have called it-of this community and into the depths. Life was no longer human here: the only things reminiscent of life being all the missing posters bearing the image of a particularly large dog. They stood like grim, silent icons along the deserted road-an older one judging by the sprawl of brick.  Down a sidestreet he didn’t recognize the name of, then another that seemed a little more familiar. He navigated through empty streets according to his whims-notions as unexplainable as the strange but strong feelings simmering just below his surface. The town was completely new to him now, or rather, he had never paid much attention to it in the first place. He kept walking. 

 

Presently, John Peddie found himself in a wide, open park covered in a blanket of soft snow glistening under the starlight. White-capped trees stood along a solitary path, criss crossing the foot trail with sharp, rectangular shadows so that Peddie felt like he was walking across a checkerboard. How did that poem that nice man, John Bridgens, go? A road diverged in a yellow road...or was it two?  _ Two roads diverged in a yellow road _ , he remembered. Yes, that’s how it went. Except that there was only this road; and unlike the poem, this road did not disappoint. It was beautiful, and that was not a description he gave to everything. Icicles, not large enough to be dangerous, hung down from the gnarled branches, twinkling as he walked under them like Christmas lights. The cold air stung his throat, each breath making him feel more alive. The exact opposite of how he felt in the office with that wicked Stanley looming over his shoulders. His joints ached but their was still plenty of yards to go. To relieve the throbbing of his limbs and the growing numbness in his feet; he started jumping down the path, leaping from shadow to shadow across the ground. Like a game of hops-scotch, he thought.      

 

“I’ve never done that before,” came a rough, yet friendly voice. 

 

Peddie checked himself mid-leap and stumbled over himself in a square of light. Strong arms reached out and stopped him from falling flat on his face. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” he huffed, warding off the hands without seeing who they belonged to. The very idea that someone was watching him have is own, solitary, moment made him blush uncontrollably. “Thanks, but I’m fine, really,” he said, composing himself off. 

 

“I know, I know, I can see that,” the voice managed after a bout of good natured laughter. The stranger had long, black-grey hair, and a very affable look that instantly put Peddie at ease. “I swear, there’s steam coming off your face. Don’t worry about it, man. Name’s Thomas, Thomas Blanky.” Blanky roughly brushed off Peddie’s coat. “Nice night, eh?” Blanky gave him a toothy grin. 

 

Instead of answering, Peddie backed up and flickered his eyes up and down over Blanky. He looked like some kind of frost giant out of myth; his long hair and bear covered in a light layer of frost, and his only protection against the cool air, despite how freezing it was tonight, was a thick white sweater. “A bit too chill for me,” Peddie answered. 

 

Blanky ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, creating a small flurry of snowflakes. “With that thing your wearing? Try being in my shoes.” Blanky did not so much walk out of the snow as he  _ waded  _ out of it.  _ How long was he hanging out in the snow? _ Peddie thought.  _ Why not stay on the path? _ Peddie grabbed one of his hands and pulled him up next to him. This close he could watch Blanky’s, misted breath. He shivered a bit. 

 

“So,” he asked after a moment, “now that I’ve introduced myself, what are you doing out this fine night?”

 

“I could easily ask you the same thing,” Peddie said, coolly. 

 

Blanky was not put off by Peddie’s suspicion, not in the least. He actually chuckled. “To be honest, I don’t know. Not anymore anyway.” Blanky looked around. “You’d think they’d be bothered to put a bloody bench around here.” 

 

Peddie cleared his throat. 

 

Blanky snorted. “Not a patient man, are you? Well, it’s not my fault the simplest questions can bring about the most convoluted nonsense you’ve ever seen. Since I don’t have my pipe to puff on during my tale, I’ll have to give you the fast version.” He leaned against a tree. “A good friend of mine who happens to be my boss (bet you didn’t think that was possible), he can’t stand gin, or anything else really. He only drinks whiskey, but only this special brand of whiskey, can’t be made by anyone else. So he sends Fairholme out for a late night booze run. Right while there’s a blizzard raging outside! Can you believe it?”

 

“I didn’t even know there was a storm,” admitted Peddie. “I, uh, don’t go out much.”

 

“Not your fault, you look like you actually work while your on the job. Us, we just hang out and see what life has in store for us. Anyway, I try to talk some sense into Crozy (I never call him that in person, of course) but he won’t see reason.” Blanky sighed and the friendly grin faded. “He’s a great guy, but ever since he left the service he’s been moodier than I’ve ever known him, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear all that. Anyway, Fairholme goes out and hours fly by without a word from him. Obviously, he got lost out in that storm so now it’s up to me to find him.” 

 

In spite of himself, Peddie couldn’t help but become invested in Blanky’s story. “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” he assured him in a voice usually reserved for patients. 

 

“I’m not worrying about him at all, he knows what it’s all about. He’s constantly fetching stuff at Back’s place. What I really am here for, is the Thing,” Blanky stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

 

Peddie could only blink at him. “Wasn’t that a movie?”

 

“No! I mean, yeah, but not  _ this  _ thing. Oh no, it’s a beast,” Blanky laughed and stretched his arms wide, “ a real monster of a dog! I think it’s a dog… I’m out chasing it. Only fair since it chased me the first time. I’ll get the Beastie back, eventually. I’ve actually been doing this search almost every night.” 

 

“Uh-huh.” Peddie grunted, having no idea what Blanky was on about. 

 

“People are too complicated these days. They don’t get me and I don’t get them sometimes. But my Beastie...When we met each other that night there was an instant connection, you know? We looked each other in the eyes and everything was clear just like that!” Blanky snapped his fingers. “My Beastie chased me and I ran, that was our relationship. But I’m sure the critter was just playing you know? I’m something of an animal whisperer, all the critters like me.” Blanky moved away from the tree and started jogging in place before walking back into the snow. Their conversation was over, apparently. 

 

Peddie did not want to be left alone, not yet, not after he had met such a friendly face in the unlikely form of this strange man whose companion was some stray dog that chased him around for a bit. “Hey!” he called. Blanky, a solitary figure amongst all the drifts of snow, looked back. “Do you think you will find your beast tonight?”

 

Blanky waited a while, then shook his head. “No,” he called back, “but it’s better to keep looking than being alone and disappointed.” On that final, melancholy note, Blanky disappeared off the path where piles of snow languished in the half-light. 

 

Peddie huffed and jogged down the trail. The absurd thought of helping Blanky in his search crossed his mind, but he figured that this was a private matter not meant to be intruded upon. He left the park and found himself on a block where shorter, older brick buildings stood on one side and a black wall of trees stood in darkness.  _ I’m in the outskirts...how long have I been walking? _ Peddie halted mid-stride and shook his head in wonderment. He was tempted to check his phone and see what time it was but he banished that thought as soon as it came-checking the time would ruin the mood of his walk; of it’s particular  _ uniqueness _ . He had no idea what to expect when he began his novel, solitary walk and he was enjoying it’s surprises. He really did hope Thomas Blanky (amazing, how often did he remember a stranger’s name?) found what he was looking for. 

 

The wind picked up, sending snowflakes flying and stinging his face. Peddie hunched his shoulders and walked against what was slowly turning into a blizzard. There had to be someplace open 24/7, like a McDonalds, and wait there for the storm to blow over. Nevermind that his visibility was rapidly dropping, that he had no idea where he was…

 

John Peddie crashed into something hard as a wall and a few inches higher than him.  _ Tonight is just not my night, _ he thought. “Sorry, very sorry about this!” he apologized profusely while backing away, shouting so he could be overheard over the blizzard. “Didn’t see you!”

 

“No, my bad!” the silhouette of a man in the growing flurry shouted back. In his right hand was a paper bag that he carefully lifted up and held against his chest while he regained his footing on the slippery, frost covered sidewalk. “You scared the shit out of me, though!”

 

“Likewise!” Peddie shouted back and, with a bravado that surprised him, stepped forwards and caught the brown, paper bag before it could fall. “Their you go,” he said while helping this new acquaintance get his grip back on the bag, “what is this anyway?”

 

“Whiskey,” the unsteady pedestrian unhappily said that clearly indicated he wouldn’t be finishing it tonight. “The only kind you can get at the farthest end of town,” he added, ruefully. “Down the street at Back’s Great Spirits.”

 

“You…” Peddie gasped. “Your Fairholme, aren’t you? Blanky’s friend?”

 

“Yes, how did you?” Fairholme sounded shocked by the fact that someone could have possibly recognized him. “Your friends with Tom, aren’t you? I don’t remember seeing you at the bar but Tom’s friends with everybody.” 

 

Fairholme had a broad face, was square jawed with a high forehead; his exact features could not be discerned but Peddie had already let his imagination fill in the empty spaces and he likde what he saw. What he liked even more was how friendly Fairholme was, how he spoke with a kind of easy authority and did not hesitate to reach out with his free hand and help Peddie get steady on his feet. It all gave him a confidence he seldom felt and never possessed back at the office. Wind whistled through the alleyways and snow stung his face. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your booze run,” he said, unheeding of the coming chaos brewing around him. 

 

Fairholme shrugged. “Guilty as charged.” He playfully jabbed a finger at Peddie. “Now it’s your turn, how did you know my name?”

“Tom told me about you while I was walking in the park.”

 

“Still looking for that stray dog of his, I dare say…Christ, he’s obsessed with it. I bet he was supposed to be looking for me.”  

 

“Yep.”

 

Fairholme cocked his head and frowned. “You sound worn out. Still need to catch your breath?”

 

“No,” Peddie replied, confused. Too tell the truth, he was breathing heavily but he was far from tired. “But I do hear something breathing...Now that you mention it…” Indeed, somewhere off to the side and hardly audible over the rising wind, came a heavy panting. 

 

It was very close.

 

“Fairholme,” Peddie breathed, not knowing if the other man could hear him and desperately wishing that he knew his first name. “We gotta get out of here.” 

 

“What’s that?” Even if he didn’t hear, Fairholme had instinctively gotten closer to him. “John, it’s close.  _ It’s right next to us _ ,” he whispered to him, his hot breath against Peddie’s face. 

 

“I know.” Peddie heard crunching snow around them,  _ it  _ was circling them. The panting continued. “Listen to me,” he hissed and clutched Fairholme’s wrist, “when we run, we’re going to bloody run.”

 

“Blanky’s Beast!” Fairholme hissed back. “What kind of ordinary dog would hang out in the middle of a fucking blizzard! I mean, that’s when it attacked him!”

 

“Quiet,” Peddie hissed again, his mind racing. “We’ll run back to the park and let Blanky deal with this.”

  
“Too far. Tom hardly had time to climb on the roof when it started chasing him.” Fairholme’s bag of whiskey was locked tightly in the crook of his arm now and he freed his free arm from Peddie’s grip and, in turn, grabbed his hand and squeezed. “We’ll go to my place, it’s only a block away.”

 

“Alright. On me.” Peddie squeezed back. 

 

They waited, counting the seconds between footfalls.  _ One...two…three...crunch...one...two...three crunch. _ It had to be a massive beast, Peddie judged from the space between footfalls, and in his mind's eye he managed a massive creature circling them in long, loping strides. Once he saw two black specks dancing around a whirlwind of dancing snow and air no more than a few feet away from him before they disappeared.  _ It’s eyes _ , he realized,  _ so small but surely set in the space of a massive skull _ . Peddie had heard stories of wolves living in the woods surrounding the town, of polar bears moving south and eating out of people’s garbage due to global warming or something, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what this thing was. Could it smell fear? Oh God, they had to run! A rabid dog was one thing but this...was it even a dog? 

 

“Now!” Peddie screamed.

 

Fairholme dragged him off his street and took him away from the obscene, heavy breathing. Were they going right or left? Up or down the street? They were running amidst a total whiteout; the only visible forms being the buildings who showed themselves as vague, dark outlines to either side of them. The shrill cry of the wind, their rapid footfalls and ragged breathing did not hide the horrid growling. More horrible was how this sudden tempest played games with the sounds their pursuer made-one moment it sounded very far away and he was tempted to believe they had lost it, and then the beast would suddenly sound off right next to them. It was indefatigable, not once did it halt in its pursuit of a prey that was quickly tiring.     

 

They could not keep this up forever. 

 

“Hold on,” Fairholme rasped. He jerked Peddie off the sidewalk and they sprinted down an alleyway. 

 

_ This could be a dead end!  _ Peddie seriously considered loosening himself from Fairholme’s grip and making a run for it by himself. Never had he placed so much trust in someone else and, if he had to honest with himself, it made him very uncomfortable to do so. He started to slow down. 

 

“Hey!” Fairholme had felt Peddie beginning to falter. “Are you with me or not?”

 

Peddie did not hesitate. “I’m on you!” He tugged on Fairholme’s hand and forced himself to run faster. At least this way he won’t be alone if he gets mauled by a wild animal. 

 

Peddie’s worst fears were confirmed when a high wall was all that faced them at the end.  _ Shit! This is what I get for trusting a stranger _ . His heart sank, he wanted to throw himself to the ground, pound his fists and gnash his teeth in despair. Peddie cursed himself for a fool once more. Blanky’s Beast howled at the mouth of the alley and it’s awful cry reverberated off the close walls, magnifying as it traveled towards the fleeing pair, assaulting their ears and leaving them ringing.  

 

“Don’t give up now! We’re almost there!” Fairholme shouted and pointed off to the side where a low, chain link fence rattled in the freezing gale. 

 

“Oh no, this is my nice coat. I’m not climb-”

 

Fairholme jerked him off his feet and he virtually flew away from the oncoming beast. “Climb, man! Climb!” Fairholme shouted and placed Peddie’s hand on the freezing metal, the cold quickly traveling through the thin fabric of his mitten. “Climb!” Peddie forced himself to tighten his grip and dig his feet into the too small gaps of the links. His heart pounded against his ribs and threatened to leap out of his chest; once he lost his grip and the metal rattled as he slid down but he managed to shoot one foot against the ground and half leap up, clutching the now swinging boundary. He clung here for a moment, his legs curled up so as to avoid the ground below where the loud crack of snapping jaws was now heard.  _ Don’t touch the floor, it’s lava! _ Peddie, half frozen and his face stinging from the chill air, began hysterically laughing at the thought. 

 

Fairholme, sitting ontop of the fence with one leg over the top, swung his head back and, absurdly, joined in. Peddie looked up and saw this stranger, his savior, limned against the harsh halo brought on by a beam of light pouring out an overlooking window. For the first time Peddie saw the face of this man named Fairholme, admired his generous features and proud bearing, and unbelievably, impossibly, Blanky’s Beast and the irascible Stanley became distant memories and the cold lost its sting.  

 

_ Christ, I’m in love. _

 

Fairholme stopped quivering in mirth on his precarious perch and reached out his hand. “Alright John, up you go!”

 

_ He knows my name? _

 

“What are you gaping at? Grab my hand!”

 

Violent eddies swirled past fluttered Fairholme’s hair and threatened to blow him away, but still he leant over and reached out his hand. Without a second thought and straining upwards with all his strength, ignoring the cool sweat freezing beneath his layers, he clasped Fairholme’s outstretched limbs with both hands and allowed himself to be hauled up to safety-giving himself to him entirely. Fairholme lifted him upwards with a surprising strength and the two of them sat ontop the shaking partition, smiling inanely at each other. 

 

Their moment was interrupted by a low, steady growl that rose in intensity until it transformed into a long, ferocious howl quickly followed by the loud slap of muscle slamming against metal. The sudden collision sent the two men toppling over the side. 

 

Into a large mound of snow.

 

They untangled their limbs under this soft blanket and they emerged together, throwing off glittering clouds of snowflakes and creating miniature avalanches; their raucous laughter drowning out the frustrated cries of the thing on the other side. Fairholme turned round to make fun of the creature and Peddie, now overcome by an overwhelming giddiness, joined in. 

 

“Better luck next time, mutt!” jeered Fairholme. 

 

Without warning, without reason, silence confronted them. Craning their necks forward, they could not even make out the thing’s outline and the swirling gusts of ice crystals obscured the slush where they tried to make out it’s tracks. It was gone in the same manner it came: quickly yet unnoticed. 

 

“Strangest dog I’ve ever ran half across town from,” Fairholme remarked, amazingly unfazed by their wild flight.   

 

Peddie, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Struggling to catch his breath, he leaned against a parked car-only now realizing they were now in a parking lot-and stared at the back of what had to be Fairholme’s apartment building. He looked to Fairholme, wanting to thank him but too exhausted to do so and ask him just one of the million questions coursing through his mind; and it slowly dawned on him that they had not completely escaped unscathed. 

 

“Mr. Fairholme,” he rasped and with his last ounce of strength staggered towards him. 

 

“What?” Fairholme asked while turning in alarm. “Talk to me, what’s wrong?” 

 

“Your...your...it’s missing...your whiskey is missing!” 

 

“Shit, your right!” Fairholme exclaimed and starting searching through a nearby snowdrift. “I think I threw it over the side somewhere…” He sifted snow through his hands and was soon joined Peddie who insisted they get on their hands and knees to find the missing parcel. Once, they thought they found the lost whiskey but instead rose their hands out of the snow to see that they had unknowingly grasped each other. They did not immediately let go. They looked into each other's eyes and only after a long moment, did they slowly loosen their fingers and, very silently, resume their search. Peddie blushed while Fairholme muttered over and over again: “Could’ve sworn I threw it over the side.” 

 

It was Peddie who found it; he yanked the bottle of whiskey out of the snow and triumphantly held it aloft to Fairholme’s applause. “And to think I’d leave Crozy disappointed,” he said and clapped Peddie on the back. “You’re freezing,” he added when he got closer, seeing Peddie’s chattering teeth and blue lips. 

 

“You don’t look much better.” 

 

“I don’t imagine.” He shrugged. “Let’s get ourselves warmed up.” He walked to the two story building’s back stairway and once he reached the first steps, looked back over his shoulder. “Unless...you don’t want to,” he spoke those words in his usual, casual tone but there was no mistaking the emotion hiding just under the surface. What it exactly was, Peddie did not dare guess. Every single one of his instincts told him to say no; just like he had to so many other such offers in his life, but-and perhaps it was the same urge that encouraged him to go on this late night walk in the first place-he found himself following Fairholme to what the other man referred to as his ‘humble abode’. 

 

“After you,” Fairholme held open the door for Peddie who still carried the whiskey and turned on the lights for him; revealing well worn but comfortable looking pieces of furniture laying about the room. It was dark, but illumination from the streetlight by the parking lot outside did more than make up for it. “Make yourself at home,” Fairholme announced and flopped down on a pull out mattress. Grunting, he yanked off his boots and carelessly tossed them into a corner. “I feel like it’s even cooler in here! You can turn the air down.” 

 

Peddie did so and awkwardly sat down on the mattress, still cradling the whiskey in his hands.  _ We’re only here to catch our breaths _ , he assured himself,  _ he still has to get that bottle back to this Crozy guy _ . Peddie yawned, took his shoes off and made himself as comfortable as he could on a stranger’s bed. 

 

Fairholme fidgeted and turned on the old TV to a random channel. They made some small talk and haltingly, slowly, revealed certain facts about each other. Fairholme was originally a courier by trade; working for the post office before going independent while also doing small job’s at Crozier’s and Blanky’s pub. Peddie hemmed and hawed, carefully sprinkling his carefully calculated nonsense with bits of truth. Every once in a while he’d try to find out how Fairholme knew his first name but the other man always found a way to dodge the question. At last, all the hours of walking caught up with Peddie and he slowly stood up, almost reluctantly. He knew all too well their tentative conversation had left them both unsatisfied. 

 

“Well, it’s about time for me to go,” he said, sounding a bit abashed, “work and all that.”

 

“Yeah.” Fairholme nodded. He was wrapped up in ratty blanket and still holding the whiskey. “But,” he spoke very carefully, “we’re still freezing and I have the medicine right here.” He brandished the bottle. 

 

“Isn’t that for your boss?”

 

Fairholme gave him a wry grin. “We need it more than him. It wouldn’t hurt for Crozy to go dry for a while.”  

 

It was a tempting offer; a stiff drink would be the perfect thing to calm his nerves. Not to mention that he still felt terribly drawn to Fairholme and their were so many questions he still needed to ask. “Sounds good,” Peddie said, “but you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”   

 

“Fine, but not while I’m sober.” He gestured towards the small kitchen. “There's a pair of glasses on the counter.” 

 

They were actually in the sink and Peddie had to wipe them off first, but he nevertheless returned to Fairholme who already had the bottle opened. Fairholme quickly poured out the drink and clinked Peddie’s glass. “Here’s to Blanky’s Beast.”

 

“And to long winter nights,” Peddie replied and downed his glass. The warm liquid stung his throat and raced down into his chest like a lit fuse, lighting his heart on fire. He coughed and grimaced. “That’s...that’s some strong stuff.” 

 

“Only because it was your first glass.” Fairholme was already pouring himself another shot. “Next one will go down easier.” 

 

It did not but, Peddie thought, it sure as hell made them feel alot better. A rosy tint touched Fairholme’s cheeks and they once laughed so loudly at each other's faces that someone in the next room shouted at them to keep quiet. This warning may have dampened the volume but not their lifting spirits. They drank even more and, inevitably, their tongues loosened.       

 

“Forgive me but I don’t know...don’t even know your first name.” Peddie was all too aware of how he slurred the words. 

 

“James.” Fairholme was lying back on the bed, propped up on his elbows. “Fairholme. James Fairholme,” he giggled. 

 

Peddie drained his glass. “Should’ve known,” he said, “every white guy in this Godforsaken town is either a James or a Thomas or a Henry or a John.”

 

“Damn,” Fairholme cried and his eyes widened in realization. “You’re right! I’ve never noticed...and you know what? There’s a lot of people here, you know, who’ve got a very pale complexion and...and darkish hair you know?”

“Yeah, it’s like…” Peddie hesitated, looking for the words. “It’s like we… _ we all look the same… _ ”   

 

“I can’t believe it but your right.” Fairholme was sitting straight up now. “We’ve got that Mariner’s Cove look.” Fairholme’s lips moved but no sound came out. “You know,” he said at last, “I’ve got a theory…”

 

“Your changing the subject,” Peddie interjected. “Now James, how did you know my name?”

 

“You still won’t give up, will you?” Fairholme groaned. 

 

“I won’t, now spit it out.”

 

“Just one more,” Fairholme said and downed another shot. “Okay, well, this wasn’t the first time I’ve seen you.”

 

“You’re kidding. You were really surprised when we bumped into each other.” 

 

“Only ‘cus it was so dark out; I didn’t see your face and in all the times I first saw you I never heard you speak.”

 

“Were you...were you...were you watching me in my sleep? Because let me tell you, if that’s the case…”

 

“No!” Fairholme said hastily. “It’s nothing like that. I’m a courier remember? I’ve been dropping off packages at your and that dickhead’s office for weeks.” 

 

Peddie was completely taken aback. Never had he suspected that a courier, especially one who cared enough about him to remember his face, had actually been with him not once but multiple times in that dreary environment where he was so convinced that he was just a nobody. Peddie nearly choked on his whiskey. 

 

“R-r-really?” he sputtered. 

 

“Really really,” Fairholme admitted. Now he was blushing. “At first I hated stopping by because that bast...your colleague...never tipped.” Fairholme sighed and gestured around the room. “I’m not exactly living in luxury but I don’t need money that bad. I nearly decided to stop going to your place and letting another guy take the route. But…”

 

Peddie gaped at the man sitting opposite him. “Dr. Stanley has a horrible bedside manner, I must admit…” he babbled. “People should always tip. My dad always told me to uh...tip…”

 

“Shh,” Fairholme shushed him like a child. “You wanted to hear me out, didn’t you? Don’t make me start over.” Fairholme shivered but warmth radiated from him, Peddie  _ could feel it _ . Fairholme stiffened, as if bracing himself for a blow. “But, well, I saw you. John, you looked so  _ miserable _ the first time I snatched a glance down the hallway where your room was. I never forgot just how sad you were, I mean you just looked dead. It got me worried. So I kept coming...to keep an eye on you.” 

 

“Oh.” It was a tiny, feeble noise he made, one fitting for a mouse. “Oh.” 

 

“I didn’t want to butt my head in and embarrass you, but I always listened. Whenever Stanley was too much of an ass I got back at him for you...like taking his pens away when dropping a parcel off at his office.” He snorted at the memory. “And there was other mischief...”

“You took a dump in the waiting room?”

 

“No!” Fairholme cried vehemently, “that was this other guy we fired for stealing the packages, but never mind.” Fairholme grabbed Peddie’s hand. “But what I was trying to say was that I was  _ always  _ there, even if you didn’t notice.”

 

“Why…” Peddie felt like the words pouring out his mouth weren’t his own, that some stranger was in the room. “Why didn’t you speak? You could have just said hi to me…”

 

_ So someone was there, when I felt so alone... _

 

Fairholme let go of him and threw his hands up in the air. “How!” he sounded angry, “you and me, we’re so different. Your a doctor, got a steady job know a lot of influential people. And me? I do something anyone who knows their way around town can do and I only hang out with a crazy guy who spends his time chasing strays and an angry guy whose been soaking up booze like a sponge ever since he fell face first into a fucking platypus enclosure! You’ve got a nice office; I haunt a dingy, terrible, old bar when Crozy’s not kicking me out to look for whiskey!” Fairholme made to pound his fist into the bed, but the fabric received a soft pat instead. This confession was draining him, if not physically than mentally. “Your beyond me, way out of my league…” Their eyes locked and Peddie saw that Fairholme looked like he was going to cry. “You’d want nothing to do with me…It would be hi and nothing more.” 

 

So that's what this was all about, Peddie realized. How hadn’t he known sooner?

 

The sensible thing to do was to pretend that he didn’t know what Fairholme was whining about and blame it on the drink before quietly slipping out of the room. But Peddie wasn’t exactly feeling sensible tonight. Instead, he turned off the TV and took Fairholme’s hands into his own. “You liked me?” 

 

“Yes.”

 

“You still like me, James?”

 

Fairholme gulped. “Yes, John.”

 

Peddie leaned over and kissed him, tasting the whiskey on Fairholme’s mouth, and wrapped his arms around his body. They drooped over, as if weighed down by the raw emotion dripping from their embrace, and they were falling, falling, landing where all was soft and warm. They writhed against each other for a while, enjoying the mere sensation of being in contact with one another. The bottle fell and hit the floor, the glass ringing, and boots, sweaters and other layers slid down, inaudibly-their smooth rustle lost to the louder chorus of sighs, modest snickers, smoother undertone of flesh against flesh. Where their fingers touched their numb skin stung; it was a good pain that excited them, emboldened their actions so they reached for places undreamed of. The tenant across the wall complained bitterly, a vehicle’s loud engine roared in the distance, the springs beneath them creaked. They were deaf to all but themselves. 

 

The streetlight went out and bathed them in darkness.    

     ---

 

John Peddie woke up with a dry throat and a throbbing head. Dawn’s rosy fingers poked through half closed blinds and tickled his resting form. Memories of last night came to him in flashes and snatches and when he turned over, seeing the fallen bottle of whiskey on the ground, it’s green glass weakly reflecting morning’s tentative glare, it all came to him in an abrupt rush that sent him shooting straight up. 

 

Had it all been a dream? An alcohol induced flight of fancy? This possibility was more terrible than, well, anything. All the throbbing and drowsiness prevented him from coming up with too many possibilities. 

 

No, it had to have been real. No way this was his place-it was way too cluttered and untidy. He rubbed his face and yawned and discovered that the spot next to him was empty. He reached out and found it still felt warm. Not a dream, indeed. Now, he forced himself to focus his thoughts, what did etiquette call for in such a situation? Peddie got his clothes on, half expecting Fairholme to come out of the bathroom with arms outspread, laughingly surprising him, but nothing came.  

 

He was not heartbroken, far from it, only dumbfounded. He got his clothes on, moving sluggishly and slowly, as if in a daze. Still, nothing from the past nor this present was real to him-the sunrise half-seen through the window, the Fairholme’s apartment, and his hangover all existed in a sort of half-life. It was, he decided, like one of the good dreams he sometimes had. After the fact he hardly remembered it, but was still glad that he had been able to experience it, if only for a little while. 

 

He nearly missed it on his way out. On the kitchen counter was an index card that he just barely noticed-so well did it blend in the clutter of dirty dishes, junk mail and scattered doodads. He grabbed it with a trembling hand and held it up for his perusal: 

 

_ John, _

_ I’ve never done this before so bear with me. Last night was awesome...<following words crossed out>...But  I mean it in a romantic way! I did not want to leave, but something came up. Crozy called. Apparently Blanky came back to the bar with cold and now my boss is worried to death…<a swear word quickly crossed out>...wants me to play nurse. You want to make a bedside visit? Blanky’s not going anywhere and I’ll make it worth your while :) …<gibberish>...but in a wholsome like romantic way. _

_ Feel free to make toast or help yoursef to cereal. Backup key under mat outside so please lock the door when you leave. Thanks. Toodaloo!    _

_ JF _

 

The letter was hastily scribbled down and it took Peddie a while to decipher it. While reading the letter, Peddie smiled and shook his head from time to time; he found Fairholme’s verbal clumsiness and earnestness to be extremely endearing. So it was real. He clutched the index card to his chest for a long time, and when he did put it away he gingerly placed it into a coat pocket. 

 

But where was this bar he talked about? Fairholme constantly talked about how terrible it was but never gave a specific name-or was  _ Terrible  _  the name of the bar? The whiskey had clouded his vision and banished his memories. What was Fairholme’s number? He couldn’t remember. The familiar despair overwhelmed him.  

 

_ How will I find James? _

 

It wasn’t hard to find someone in the 21st century he reasoned, especially in such a small town. He’d look this terrible place up on the web or in a phonebook and go their. Waiting around the apartment was certainly an option but he had no idea when Fairholme would be back and hanging around for too long would be a bit creepy. Searching through Fairholme’s things would also be creepy, they didn’t know each other that well, after all.  So he would search for Fairholme; he’d ask around during the day and search the streets by night-hoping to intercept him during one of his nocturnal booze runs. Better to keep looking than being alone and disappointed, someone had once told him. He’d search for James Fairholme and he would find him. How hard could it be? 

 

He stepped outside into the crisp air. The sky had turned a milky orange and the sun, bloated and yellow like a ripe fruit, hung above a few, wispy tendrils of white cloud. It promised to be a fine day. 

 

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and took it out to find a text from Stanley-urging him to hurry to the office and deal with a patient who was, in Stanley’s own words, ‘high maintenance’. Instead of quickly replying that he’d be their, as he was normally want to do, he sent his fellow doctor a curt message that he had to make a call on a patient who couldn’t show up to the office. It wasn’t a lie, not really. 

 

Life had returned to the streets, reminding Peddie of fresh blood flowing into aged but reliable arteries. He dodged two students, one lean and muttering and the other large and tall and silent, were hurrying off to the local community college. They also, Peddie noticed, really did have what Fairholme called the Mariner’s Cove look; he passed by a young woman looking for her lost dog; and soon enough he was surrounded by pedestrians. 

 

He’d return to this street to search for Fairholme, if he hadn’t found him at the terrible old place first. One way or the other, he swore to himself, he’d find him somewhere, somehow, if not sooner than definitely later. He’d find the man who remembered his name and it wouldn’t matter that everyone else forgot. As long as Fairholme remembered, John Peddie would forever be content. 

 

He moved eastward, in the direction of the rising sun.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fairholme really drew the short end of the stick on the show, didn’t he? Between him and Blanky losing a leg while watching the ice-it really doesn’t pay to run errands for Crozier. At least not when he’s hitting the bottle. Fairholme doesn’t fair much better in the book, I think he gets killed off-page and I don’t remember if they even find his body or not. 
> 
> The whole atmosphere for this oneshot came from this wonderfully moody song: [Nightporter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZVn9y0XfoI)
> 
> Writing smut is beyond me. I can write funny stuff that’s meant to be bizarre, absurd, uncomfortable, and awkward, but I cannot serious, quality smut. Hopefully the brief scene at the climax of this oneshot (ha ha) was tolerable. If I really put effort into writing smut it would be, gasp, like something out of a Dan Simmons book. 
> 
> A chapter for the Ghost Hunters AU is still in progress. George Hodgson and Henry Collins will make an appearance.


End file.
